Maybe
by Amanda1004
Summary: Kat has resisted her feelings for Patrick Verona since the first time she saw him, but even the most stubborn of people have to break at some point, even if they know it could mean dealing with a world of pain when the situation turns bad.
1. Chapter 1

Having a cute boy climb up to your balcony and knock on your window late at night may seem painfully romantic in those crappy teen movies, but in real life it's sort of annoying.

It's eleven at night and my hair is a mess and my face is clear of my minimal daily make-up. I'm wearing ratty old gym shorts from my school in Ohio and a shirt from last years blood drive that is about ten sizes to big on me.

"Can I help you?" I snap as I raise the window. He smirks and then climbs inside, pushing past me.

"Don't act like you aren't thrilled to see me," he says in his signature deep voice that makes me melt a little bit every time I hear it.

"You caught me. My excitement is just bubbling over," I reply, my words coated with sarcasm. He smiles and leans a bit closer to my face than I am comfortable with. I can feel his warm inhalation on my cheek.

"Keep me company tonight."

"No."

"No? You won't even grace me with a more creatively worded refusal?" he asks, his right eyebrow furrowed inquisitively. For a moment the reason for my quick refusal escapes me, but as he lowers his eyebrow to where it normally sits and I return to my logical mindset, I remember the big English test that I have first period tomorrow, "what if I say please?"

I stare into his eyes for what seems like minutes, but is only milliseconds in reality. His eyes beg and I know that he wants me to say yes just as much as I want to say yes. I'm disappointed at how much my self-control has been lacking lately.

"Fine," I say, "let's go."

He smiles at his victory and then looks me over, "You wearing that?" he asks. I look down, reminded of my sloppy attire and I suddenly feel a bit self-conscious. As much as it tears me apart inside to say it, I actually somewhat care about Patrick Verona's opinion of me.

"No….no, of course not," I stutter as I proceed toward the bathroom to change into something more decent, "I'll throw something else on."

"Kat," I hear from behind me. It beckons me to turn around so I do. The hard-to-read, tough-guy expression that normally occupies Patrick's face has been replaced by one that is much more kind.

"It's just cold out," he replies, having picked up on the fact that his question had slighted me. I nod understandingly and continue on my mission to find more flattering and thermal attire.

When I return, I have not only changed into jeans and a crimson sweatshirt, but I have also run a brush through my hair and applied some powder to my face.

"Ready?" I ask, nervously fiddling with the cuff of my sweater.

"After you," he motions for the window behind him, which still stands open. I cock my head and raise an eyebrow at him distrustfully. He responds with a confused look, "what?"

"You just want to check me out as I climb through the window."

"Maybe," he says, "or maybe I'm just trying to be gentlemanly."

"You go first."

"Are we really arguing about this?"

"No. Go first."

He shakes his head--I'm assuming at the fact that I am making such a "crazy" demand--and then climbs out the window before me. Despite how much I don't completely hate this guy, I refuse to let him think I am just a piece of ass.


	2. Chapter 2

_Just so you guys know, I love getting your comments and appreciate the fact that you take a second to let me know what you thought after reading. If you have any criticism or suggestions I would love to hear them as well. Also, I don't quite have a direction I want to take this story so if you have any suggestions about that it would be very helpful because I am having fun writing this but don't want to have to stop for lack of a storyline lol. Enjoy __J_

* * *

Normally I would insist that we take the safer mode of transportation--my car--because even though I didn't lose my face riding on the back of that bike the first time, I'm not so willing to take chances. However, my controlling nature seems to have taken a back seat tonight, so I take the backseat on the motorcycle without argument.

It's a brief ride to the beach, which is only lit by the beaming full moon that hangs in the sky above us. The bike stops and I quickly remove my helmet and get off, amazed by how pretty the water looks with the moon suspended over it, making it appear to be glowing.

I turn to Patrick, who is wearing his signature smirk. He can obviously tell how awestruck I am by the sight and is quite satisfied with himself for being the first to show it to me.

"Ohio didn't have beaches like this," I explain, "the ones that they did have were always closed because the water was contaminated."

"Is that where the environmentalist in you originates?"

"It is, in fact," I say proudly and out of the corner of my eye I can see him smiling at me. It seems different though. It's not a mocking smile or a cocky one like I can usually expect from him. It's more admiring.

He slips his hand into mine so smoothly that I barely notice until he is pulling me toward the sand. We walk in silence toward the water.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Why else? I needed a good place to dump your body once I'm through brutally murdering you…oh no, it looks as if I have just spoiled my plan. I guess we'll just have to walk the beach."

I stop walking, "I'm serious. Why me?"

"We've been over this. You're interesting. You have a mind of--"

"Patrick, I'm not an idiot. The only guys who like girls with brains are zombies," I say looking him dead in the eye, hoping to find some telltale sign of a guys whose mission is less than gentlemanly, "There are always other, less endearing reasons for a guy to be interested in a girl."

He stares at me for what seems like hours, "Hmm…"

"I think that the real reason you find me interesting is because I'm not handing myself over to you to have your way with me. I don't think that's the reason you're staying around though."

"What does that mean?"

"I think you're around for the challenge of changing that."

The unfamiliarity with his current expression doesn't make it any harder for me to identify it as anger, "I don't think you really believe any of that crap that you just said to me."

"Oh and why is that?" I challenge, my hands placed firmly on my hips. I expect him to come back with only a blank stare and a stumbling response. But I should know by now that Patrick never hesitates to match my feistiness.

"Because if you really believed that you wouldn't have gone to that dance with me or agreed to go to the beach with me afterward….and you certainly wouldn't be here right now. If I know anything about you, I know that you have a lot more self-respect than to follow through this far with something you know to be degrading," he pauses, staring into my eyes so intensely that I fear he might actually be able to see what I am thinking, "I think you're scared and you're desperately trying to find an excuse to push me out."

I let my eyes drift down to our feet, which are buried in the soft California sand. I sigh, feeling my composure slip away as I unbury my feet. I don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want to lose the unfailing poise that I've managed to keep since meeting Patrick. So I take a deep breath and look up at him, "I just don't want to get hurt," I admit in a voice no louder than a whisper.

"The stun gun was my first clue to that," he whispers in response.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for the suggestions. They've been very helpful. The next few chapters are sort of filler; they're short and don't seem too important, but they're transitions into the more exciting stuff. I promise. Thanks again for the comments and I continue to welcome any feedback you have (Compliments, suggestions, criticism, etc.). Thanks!_

* * *

Sleep seems to be avoiding me like the plague tonight. It's one of those nights where I can't leave my mind to rest and keep the persistent thoughts from pushing into my mind. I give up, roll over onto my back, and take a deep breath. Images of Patrick invade my brain. I think back to the night of the dance and the memory makes butterflies flutter around my stomach just like they did that night. I remember the way he stared the first time he saw me in that black dress. Normally I would have called him a pig, but I felt pretty and the way he looked at me just reinforced that feeling, so I left it alone.

Patrick scares me. But not for the reasons he scares everyone else. I don't believe any of those stupid rumors for a second. He knows the taste of human flesh? What the hell? What idiot made that one up?

He scares me because I have no idea what he feels. I don't know what his motives are. What does he think he is going to get by being with me? Normally when a guy intends to screw a girl over he puts on a brilliant facade of a guy who is in love. Patrick isn't claiming to be in love with me, but he isn't exactly disinterested either. But then again, can I trust him? Every time I turn my back I turn back again to find him with another girl. He has a history of being with a lot of girls, which makes me think I might just be another one to add to his list. After all, he didn't actually deny it when I suggested that tonight. I don't know where I stand. And that scares me.

While Patrick may scare me a little bit, the sappy thoughts that have begun to turn my brain to mush are just downright terrifying.

**********

"Talk about Freaky Friday moment," says my sister as she barges through the half-closed bathroom door and checks herself out in the mirror, "I'm ready and waiting on you to….finish looking at yourself in the mirror?" she observes, her eyes widened in amazement. I roll my eyes at her as I grab my book bag off the floor near the door and push past her to the hallway.

"Let's go," I mutter.

"No, no. If you want to take a few extra minutes to make yourself look good for Patrick I can let you. Who am I to stand in the way of your being human for once."

"I'm leaving!" I call to her as I make my way down the hallway. I know Bianca is excited for the day she finally gets her license and it is times like these that make me just as excited for that day.

By the time she catches up to me, I have the car started and the music blasting. She slides into the passenger seat, lip gloss in hand, and turns down the music. I shoot her a glare but do nothing except put the car into drive and pull away from the curb.

"It's okay if you like him, you know. I mean, he's actually cute. Don't you think? What am I saying, of course you do!"

I remove my focus from the road for a second to glare at her, "My eyes don't exactly bleed when I look at him," I admit with a shrug. At this point I am responding purely to shut her up.

"Aw, Kat that's sweet. I am sure he'd be so flattered," she returns sarcastically as she unscrews her lip gloss and pulls the mirror down. I wait until the lip gloss touches her lips and then swerve just sharply enough for it to be drawn all over her chin. I offer an innocent shrug and a smile in return for the dirty look I receive.

"Whoops."


	4. Chapter 4

School is like a six hour hostage situation.

It's been a long day full of many situations that further my worries that our species might die off much, much sooner than expected. So by the time I walk into my eighth period class, I am in a mood that can only be described as hazardous. Luckily it's Friday.

Being one of the only classes in which I am really forced to interact with any of the dimwits that are in this hostage situation with me, Chemistry tends to be the least enjoyable class of my day. My lab partner, Danny, is….well….he's not exactly notorious for using words that might send someone to a dictionary. In fact, his vocabulary mainly consists of the word "dude." I do most of the work in our labs and he is very attentive to what I am doing, but I'm pretty sure he is only waiting for it to either explode or turn a pretty color.

The ringing of the bell has never sounded so glorious to my ears. I throw my book bag over my shoulder and proceed out to the hallway where I shove through all the idiots that still haven't figured out that choosing to stand in the middle of the hallway--which is meant for walking, not standing--is impolite. I get out to the parking lot and find a surprise leaning nonchalantly against my car.

"You know, you have the Stalker of the Year Award in the bag," I say as I approach him. He smiles.

"Can't wait to see the trophy," he replies. I smile and open my car door, eager to get home. With a deft movement Patrick catches my door as I'm about to close it, "I have a question."

"Do I look like a search engine?" I ask, though I am perfectly okay with listening to his question.

"Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

For a moment I'm almost too stunned to react, "I guess that depends on whether you want to have dinner with me badly enough that you'd be willing ask my father for permission to date me."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Just call it my way of being sure that you want to date me and not just get laid," I close the door, this time with no blockage, throw the car into reverse and pull away, leaving Patrick with only a smile.

************

On Saturday I decide to make it a day of traveling book store to book store in search of reading material that will keep my interest. As of lately nothing has been able to do so, but then again, my mind has been elsewhere most of the time.

Upon my return back home I find an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Curiosity is still buzzing in me when I walk in the door and run into Patrick.

"Hi…" I say awkwardly, shock having taken over my body and temporarily paralyzed the part of my brain that conjures worthwhile thoughts. With a sly smile he slips past me and out the door. I follow him back out the door I have just come through, waiting for him explain.

"I'll see you at seven tomorrow night. Dress casual," he says with a wink. My mind is still all over the place, but I manage to put the pieces together and realize that he had actually gotten permission from my uptight, suspicious father to take me on a date. I smile, excitement growing.

"Where's the bike?"

"Turns out that motorcycles are perceived as dangerous, especially by dads that are insanely overprotective of their daughters….so I took my car today instead of the bike to show that I have a proper mode of transportation for you."

"How bad was it?" I ask, almost afraid to hear what I put him through. I think of the shelf full of tapes about pregnancy and the cheesy CPR training videos.

"I'm scarred for life," he says as he slides into the car and closes the door. He rolls the window down and smiles, "Don't let the guilt eat you too much."

I smirk, "Don't worry, I won't."

"Seven," he reminds me as he backs out of my driveway and drives off.


	5. Chapter 5

"Son, you make me a grandpa and I'll make you road kill," my dad threatens, followed by a light-hearted chuckle. I wave to my dad as I shove Patrick out the door before me and follow.

"He's…." I begin to explain after I close the door behind me.

"I got that," Patrick replies, knowing exactly what words I am getting at. Concerned, paranoid, excessively caring, a little bit crazy.

"So who did you steal the car from," I ask as we approach the old, beat up vehicle that occupies my driveway.

"The old guy down the street. I figured he wouldn't need it too much longer anyhow seeing that he could croak any day now. Not a horrible loss for him."

"Doesn't it reek of old people, though?"

"That's what air fresheners are for. I hope you like the smell of pine trees."

"Where did it really come from?"

"Well, I drove this car way back when I was first learning to drive. See, there's evidence of every accident I had during the process," He points to a particularly large dent toward the back end, "That one there is from backing up into a mailbox the very first time I drove the car."

"Yet women are the ones with the reputation for being dangerous drivers," I muse, "Are you sure I shouldn't drive?"

"That's very funny," he nods, "hilarious."

*************

As we pull into my driveway there is a comfortable silence hanging between us. I think we're both sad to see this date end. When the car stops I turn my gaze to Patrick but stay silent.

"You didn't try to jump out of the car while it was still in motion so I can only assume you had a somewhat enjoyable time," he says. I grin as I remove my seat belt.

"Well you didn't push me out of the moving car so I am assuming you had a decent time as well."

He smiles and silently examines me for a moment before speaking again, "You didn't expect me to go through all the trouble of getting your dad's permission, did you?"

"Considering you had met my dad before and knew what you would be getting into, I doubted it."

"Are you convinced yet?'

"Convinced of what?"

"That I'm not the enemy," he explains, "Kat, I know that according to gender stereotypes I am supposed to be less observant about your feelings than a damn rock, but I can see that something is holding you back; You're not allowing yourself to have full-out feelings for me. And I'm getting frustrated."

"Don't push this," I retort icily, offended by his frustration and the audacity he had to bring it up. Who is he to be upset about my inability to allow myself feelings for him when it is his actions that have caused me to worry, "Don't act like you're making it so easy for me to be comfortable with my feelings for you when you have proven several times over that nice moments don't guarantee that you won't find another girl to ride on the back of your bike tomorrow. Excuse me for trying to protect myself," I start to open the door only for Patrick to swiftly reach across me and slam it back shut.

"I'm aware that you always like to have the last word, but I wasn't quite done yet," he snaps. I'm so stunned by the tone he is using with me that I don't make another move for the door, "You know damn well that this sort of date isn't a normal occurrence for me. It's a bit out of my range. So the fact that I agreed to something like this should give you some idea of how dedicated I am to what we have here. Maybe acknowledge that and show a bit of appreciation."

"What do we have here?" I inquire quietly. He turns his gaze downward for a moment and I am shocked to see a hint of vulnerability.

"I want to do this again…minus the ending argument," there's an apologetic tone to the latter part.

"That makes two of us."


	6. Chapter 6

**Upon my arrival to my room I am bombarded by my sister, who has apparently been staked out in my room waiting to attack me with questions.**

"Did he like your outfit?" she asks excitedly and practically has a heart attack when I don't respond within .648538 seconds of the question being asked. She helped me choose the outfit before I left, referencing several vomit-worthy teen romance movies in which the character wore something that provoked a desired reaction by their date. She then explained to me characteristics of some clothing from my own wardrobe which would do the same.

All the while she asked question after question about Patrick and our relationship. She's planning on calling us Katrick when we officially become a couple. Excuse me while I vomit.

"I can't believe he actually asked dad for permission!" She exclaims now as I collapse onto my bed.

"He's crazy," I say, agreeing with the implied statement.

"Speaking of crazy, wasn't he rumored to be a killer or something?" her face brightens as if she has just realized the meaning of life, "How romantic! The killer has a soft spot for you!"

I roll my eyes, "The only kind of killer he has ever been is a lady killer. I assure you."

"Still just as romantic. The player has a soft-spot for you. Always a great movie plot."

"He does seem kind of serious about it."

She gasps, "He's falling in love with you! Oh my gosh, can I help you pick out your wedding dress?"

I stare blankly at her for a moment, trying to grasp whether or not she is actually serious,. She is. "You're getting a little ahead of yourself there, don't ya think?"

"You'll be high school sweethearts! That's so adorable. It'll be a great story to tell when people ask how you met."

"You know, maybe if you took on romantic novel writing in your free time you would be less likely to let your fantasies seep into real life."

"Oh come on, deep down I know you want something that romantic. Every girl does."

"Well, you may have noticed that I'm not like every girl," I reply, "I prefer to live in reality."

***********

A knock on my window quickly brings me out of my deep state of concentration and I close my book and saunter over to the window. I welcome Patrick with a smile as I unlock and lift the window.

"Is this a good time for me to kidnap you and bring you to the beach?" he inquires.

"Indeed it is," I respond, grabbing a sweater off of my desk chair and climbing out the window.

Minutes later I arrive at the beach on the back of his bike. I smile as I take in the smell of the water. It smells like a mixture of salt and fresh air, neither of which are particularly great smells until combined with one another.

This time instead of walking the beach, we pick a spot in the sand and sit, quietly watching the waves crash onto the shore, a sight which is surprisingly hypnotic.

"This is my favorite part about California," I say.

"Um…thanks."

I shrug, "Eh, I guess you're alright, too."

He smiles, "I'll take that."

I laugh a little bit and turn to him, "Take what you can get."

"Exactly."

"Your ego doesn't need to be any bigger anyway," I say.

He turns to me wearing a small smile that eventually fades into a more serious, focused expression. He gazes at me thoughtfully.

"What happened to make you so guarded?"

I study him for a moment. His deep brown eyes seem to be all-knowing as they stare back at me waiting for a reply. I turn away, closing my eyes. If he cares then he deserves to know.

"As sad as it makes me to admit this, I used to be a lot like my sister: driven by the opinions of the people around me instead of by my own."

"That's very hard for me to picture."

"Good. Because those years of being like that weren't exactly my best. I hid everything that I actually was--the feminist, the rights activist, the environmentalist--and created this phony version of me. I started dating this guy who wore a mask of Prince Charming and then one night we went to a party and I got wasted on Rum and Orange juice and he took advantage of me--took my virginity--and then broke up with me the next day."

"And he's still breathing? I'm surprised."

"He was a Jack of all asses," I continue, "I cut ties with my entire group of friends after that and concentrated on making myself better than the average, self-centered and ignorant teenager. I focused on things of importance. I just grew into the personality that had always been there but had been too big to fit the small person that I was living as."

He's silent and for a moment I think he has dozed off with his eyes open in the middle of my story, then he turns to me, "I'm just can't picture you being so completely opposite of what you are right now. It seems….wrong."

"It was wrong," I agree with a wry smile.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you guys so much for being so patient. Writer's block and a busy week caused major delay in my writing. Hopefully I will be able to update much more frequently than that for now on. Comments, critique, and ideas are welcomed as always. Thanks!_

I perch myself up on the ledge of the wall beside the door right outside the cafeteria and remove my lunch from my book bag. I love this idiot-free break in my day where I can read and eat in peace.

"You're quite anti-social," I hear the familiar voice and look up from unwrapping my sandwich to see Patrick walking in my direction.

"Coming from the social butterfly that you are I could almost take that as an insult," I retort as I take a bite of my self-made Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich.

"It wasn't meant as an insult," he shrugs. Noticing he doesn't have a lunch I rip off half of my soggy sandwich and offer it to him. He examines it, glances at me with a smile, and then accepts it, "Your kindergarten teacher would be proud," he says. I nod because I know this is the Patrick Verona way of thanking me.

"You're welcome," I respond with a wry smile as I finish off what is left of the sandwich I still hold. Silence hangs over us and the only thing that can be heard is the nearby chatter of gossiping girls in the courtyard.

"So…would it be terribly inappropriate for me to call you my girlfriend?" Patrick asks, his smooth voice shattering the quiet. I swallow the rest of my sandwich, trying to grasp whether he is really serious about this.

It shouldn't require much thought. The guy I like is asking me to be his girlfriend in the most adorable way ever. The fact that he is asking instead of assuming makes it that much better. Any normal person would have said yes immediately. So why am I have trouble getting the word out? Why does it feel so dangerous to say it?

"Um…no…that wouldn't be inappropriate at all," I answer nervously. He smiles and takes a bite of the sandwich that he still holds. And then I realize why it feels dangerous; the guard that I have thrown up in my own defense, the one that he could see right through, had just voluntarily been brought down while I accepted him as my first boyfriend in a year and a half.

************

"Dad," Bianca is whining when I saunter into the living room, "this party is crucial to my social life!"

"What is this you are watching?" My dad inquires, completely distracted--and increasingly disgusted--by the dating show that is playing on the television.

"Reality dating show," I answer as I sit down and pick up the remote, "They teach us that true love is watching your girlfriend make out with 20 guys and still wanting to 'win the challenge'" I change the channel to news.

"Can we focus on the issue here?" Bianca screeches, "My social life is going down the toilet!"

"Isn't this old news? I swear we talk about the flushing of your social life nightly in this house."

"Shut up!"

"Gladly, right after I ask dad something," I say. I turn to him, "Can Patrick take me out tomorrow night?"

"No," he says. Bianca takes her attention away from her own issues long enough to smile at my defeat.

"How does it feel?" she shoots spitefully from across the room.

"Why not?" I ask ignoring her laughter.

"He should have dinner here!" My dad exclaims in a voice that unrealistically insinuates that I should be jumping up and down at the idea.

"Great idea, Dad," Bianca harmonizes cheerfully, taking an obnoxious pleasure in the roadblock that has suddenly been thrown into my path.

"But Dad--"

"If this boy is as serious about you as he seems then I think he should be able to handle a night with your loving father and socially deprived sister."

Bianca throws her hands up in defeat. She must have just realized the same thing I did. Dad is going to make her come to this dinner and use it as an excuse to not let her go to the party. I smile evilly at her, taking pleasure in how the tables have turned so suddenly. She stomps angrily out of the room.

"Fine," I accept, "What time should I tell him?"

"Seven," he answers. Feeling a bit defeated but not willing to display it, I turn and begin walking out of the room.

"Kat," my dad calls from behind me. I turn, feeling less than excited about whatever it is that he has to say, "I'll keep the videos on the shelf."

I smile thankfully.

****************

As if clockwork, Patrick's face shows up in my bedroom window at eleven. I flip the locks and open the window, then move aside so he can climb in.

"What was so urgent that I had to stop by?" he inquires. I called him earlier and asked him to come over. It wasn't so much that I couldn't tell him about dinner over the phone, but more that I want to see his honest reaction when I ask him.

"I asked about dinner tomorrow night," I swear I see a flicker of excitement in his eyes and feel bad for having to drive a pitchfork through it, "and he said yes...as long as we have it here with the family."

"Okay," he says finally after an awkwardly long pause, but I can tell he isn't happy about it, "what time?"

"You knew from the beginning that dating me wouldn't be easy, so don't act as if this obstacle is such a surprise."

"I'm not. I just…" he shakes his head and continues dramatically, "when does it end?"

I catch his hand in mine and hold it, "It doesn't. That's why if you want to back out you should do it now."

He responds with a defeated sigh that tells me he will be sitting at the dinner table with us tomorrow night, "what time?"

"Seven," I respond, "be early."

I smile, moving myself into his arms. I extend onto my tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his lips. He more than deserves it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Okay, so I said I would try to update sooner but I actually seem to write a lot better if I leave it alone for a week and then write it, so that is what I think I'll do from now on unless I suddenly get some spurt of inspiration. I really like this chapter myself so I hope you guys enjoy it._

_**Chapter 8**_

_I glance at the clock as the numbers flip to show that it is seven o'clock. Since I specifically told Patrick to be early I am nothing short of livid when he is nowhere to be seen. Bianca is setting the table when I walk into the dining room area. She is practically throwing the silverware onto the sloppily placed napkins. She shoots me a glare as I stand opposite of her and straighten the silverware she has already set out._

"_You know, it really isn't my fault that Dad made you stay home tonight," I begin, "First of all, he wouldn't have let you go to that party anyway. Plus, how should I have known he would make you stay?"_

"_Well you didn't exactly argue either," she replies coolly. Before a response can even reach my brain, the annoying chimes of our doorbell interrupt and I rush to the door._

"_You're late!" I hiss at him in a hushed tone as I take him by the hand and drag him inside. _

"_Hi…" he says as I close the door behind us. _

"_I told you to be early so that even if you were late you would still _be on time," I say eying the kitchen nervously.

"Punctuality is important. Point made."

We go into the living room where Bianca now sits sulking on the couch watching MTV. We plop down on the couch next to her and watch with her for all of ten seconds before Patrick speaks.

"Educational," he says of the screaming idiots displayed on the TV.

"I find television very educating. Normally when somebody turns it on, I go into the other room and read a book," I reply.

He smiles but makes no effort at a reply. If it weren't for the occasional "WTF" look showing up on his face I would think he actually enjoys it.

"Dinner is done!" calls my dad from the kitchen. With a grimace Bianca mutters something about going to wash her hands to prevent Swine Flu and then leaves the room as Patrick and I walk to the dinner table. I immediately know that she doesn't plan on returning any time soon. Sister intuition, I guess.

"Have you thought about colleges yet, son?" my dad asks as he seats himself and begins taking his helping of spaghetti.

Patrick chuckles and I can already tell that the next words out of his mouth are going to make me regret this entire night, "No."

My heart rate raises in sync with my father's eyebrows as his expression transforms into one of obvious disapproval, "Well, you know, Kat is going to Brown."

"Dad…." I say, ready to remind him that I haven't been accepted yet. He raises a hand that tells me that I am not involved in the current conversation. I sink in my chair, gazing pleadingly at Patrick to be pleasant and then at my dad to just eat his asparagus and be quiet, but at no avail because they both seem to be too interested in the conversation that has been commenced.

"I'm aware."

"And you don't plan on pursuing any education after high school?"

"None."

My dad pauses, his chin resting pensively on his fisted hand. He glances at me but quickly averts his attention back to an impassive Patrick.

"And you're aware that Brown, an Ivy League school, is located across the country?"

"Yes."

"And what happens when she leaves?"

"It's a year away."

"Dad…" I intervene more sternly, "this isn't relevant right now. We'll work this out when the time comes," I say, motioning to myself and Patrick.

"I just want to be sure that he won't be trying to keep my smart little girl away from further studies. No need for him to drag you down with him."

I glance at Patrick who is staring intently at me as he awaits my reply.

"Nothing would keep me away from Brown," I say, keeping my gaze away from him, "a zombie apocalypse could not keep me away from the school I have dreamed about going to since I was six!"

"I don't doubt that. But this is a boy, Kat. They tend to send girls off the right track. I don't want—"

"You should know me better than that. I am way above letting a silly high school fling affect my life that seriously."

As soon as the words leave my mouth I wish I could pull them back. Patrick is already half way out of his chair by the time I open my mouth to explain. I rise from my chair so quickly that I almost knock my plate of spaghetti off of the table. I shoot my dad a look as I round the table and follow Patrick through the living room to the door.

"Wait," I call weakly. The guilt has set in thickly by this time; after all he went through to get me—taking me to the dance even though his hatred for such gatherings exceeds mine, asking my father if he could take me to dinner, asking me to be his girlfriend, and all the while having to climb the massive emotional wall that I'd managed to construct over the years—I went and called our relationship a silly little high school fling, insinuating that it was of no importance to me. I did to him exactly what I was afraid he was going to do to me, "Patrick, please!"

He whips around with a glare of such intensity that I stop in my tracks, "It's very clear that both you and your father think you are way too perfect for me, so why should I bother?" His words are so composed and smooth that I wouldn't know he was mad if the words themselves didn't clearly inform me of it.

"That wasn't what I meant--"

"It was what you said."

"I misspoke."

"That wasn't misspeaking; that was letting your true thoughts come through in the height of an argument," He takes a step back and shrugs, "Now I know."

"An argument in which I was defending _you_."

"Really? It sounded a lot like you were defending yourself."

Without my protest he gets on his bike, puts his helmet on, and quickly starts up the bike and peels out of my driveway. I watch him drive away for the mere seconds it takes for him to leave my line of sight.


	9. Chapter 9

_I am very sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. I am sad to say that I've been having quite the writer's block lately. Because of this, I had a hell of a time deciding what should happen in this chapter and where to take everything from there. Hope you enjoy it. As always, comment and critique are welcome. Thank you to everyone who is reading._

_***********_

I call repeatedly. I text repeatedly. And I get ignored repeatedly.

I'm leaning against his locker when he walks up wearing his usual scowl and leather jacket.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey," he replies, the word lacking so much emotion that he might as well be telling someone what color the sky is. I don't move from his locker so he stands in front of me with a look that says I should get my speech over with so he can get through this day. I take a deep breath as if to say that I regret the mess I have made, which I do.

"I didn't mean it," I say in a tone much less aggressive than my usual. He stares at me for a moment, giving me false hope that maybe this statement is enough to make him forgive me, and then he scoffs and I know that it isn't that easy.

He leans in and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face, "And you still can't bring yourself to make an apology." He pulls back and glances at the locker that I stand in front of as if to question whether anything he needs in there is really worth it. He obviously decides it isn't because he pivots and walks away without another word.

"Still no luck?" I hear from behind me. I turn to see my sister frowning at me. She has warmed up to me since last Friday; she found out that the party she wanted to go to got busted an hour and a half after it started and that because of our dinner she wasn't there to be involved in that.

"Plenty of luck," I reply, "all bad.'

"What are you going to do?"

"I…don't know."

"Wow….I should document this. It is the very first time I have ever heard those words leave your mouth."

She's right. For the first time in as long as I can remember I am unable to find a solution to a problem. I fear that the helpless feeling is the reality of the situation.

******

The cool water pricks my toes as it lightly scrolls over them. I stare at the movements, observing the sequence of each one causing the next. The sun sets further toward the horizon. Nearly an hour has passed now.

Dry pieces of sand sprinkle onto my hand and pull me out of my reverie. I look up and the only thing that keeps me quiet is the shock.

"You're stealing my place," he says wryly. I stand up, lacking the energy or will needed to argue that the beach doesn't belong to him, and begin walking back to my car when he grabs my hand, "that's it? No argument at all?"

I yank my hand out of his hand and shake my head in response to his question, "all the sudden you _want_ me to talk to you?"

"Don't turn this around on me," he says, his tone becoming harder. He huffily takes a seat on the sand and ignores me. I can't bring myself to walk away and I am not sure if it is because I don't want to leave or because I know I need to stay.

"I'm sorry," I say. He doesn't respond, but somehow I know he heard me. Minutes go by and the silence between us remains. I take a seat next to him.

"That was weird," he looks over at me with a small smile, "….but I believe you."

"I probably should have said it sooner," I say apologetically. He nods in reply but makes no effort at a verbal response, I assume because he doesn't want to dwell on it and make me feel worse than I already do, "I should probably get home."

The sand makes it difficult to walk too fast, but I don't mind since I don't want to leave any sooner than I have to. My hand is wrapped in his as we reach the edge of the sand, so when he drops it suddenly I look up at him to see what is wrong. He is looking toward the parking lot, a vague look of panic and dread on his face. I follow his gaze to his bike, where a girl I recognize from school is standing. Her hair is so blond that it is almost white and her orange make-up is caked on. Patrick looks at me to gauge my response.

"I see you brought company," I say flatly.

"No, I--"

She waves at him excitedly and bounds toward us. With as tight as her shorts are I have trouble imagining how she could possibly even walk in them. She plants herself in front of him with less than a foot separating them.

"What're you doing here?" He asks. I can hear the impatience in his voice, but she doesn't pick up on it.

"I haven't heard from you since Saturday night and I wanted to see if we can get together again sometime. It was…" she smiles devilishly and I swear I can feel my lunch come up into my throat, "fun."

Since I am less than eager to hear about their wonderful Saturday night together I leave them behind as I proceed toward my car. I hear him call my name, but instead of turning around and listening to anything he has to say, I get into my car and quickly peel out of the parking lot.

*************

I slam the door because I can just kick myself for wasting so much time worrying about such a stupid relationship. I could kick Patrick for making me believe that he actually cared about this relationship. It's like he just hopped the fence and left me standing here alone.

I keep my phone off, close my blinds and lay down on my bed. I close my eyes, wondering if he is even fretting over this. I'm wondering if he is just going to get another slutty blond girl to use to keep his mind off of me or if he is actually concerned about upsetting me. I've been upset with him before and never seemed to bother him. Why should I expect anything different? Because we were decidedly a couple for all of two days?

I sit up, unwilling to let myself mope around and neglect reality because of a guy. I pull my textbook out of my backpack and start the homework that was assigned. I am close to finishing when I hear a knock on my window. The blinds obstruct my view of the window, but I know who is outside and I don't want to talk to him. The knocking stops after a while.

After enjoying the peace for a few minutes there is a knock on my bedroom door.

"What?" I ask impatiently.

"I need to borrow your shampoo," says my sister. I don't ask questions because I always regret it when I do.

"Come in and--" before I can finish my sentence the door opens. Patrick is shoved in and the door is quickly pulled shut behind him, "I'm going to cut her hair in her sleep," I mutter as I close my textbook. He walks toward the bed and sits down on the edge.

"It was nothing," he says, referring to our current predicament.

"That's where you're wrong," I say. I stand up and walk over to my desk, "You can get mad at me for calling our relationship a fling but you don't see how wrong it is that you went out and did God knows what with some desperate blond chick?"

"We were--"

"Arguing," I finish for him, "not broken up."

He steps forward and before I know what is happening I am in arms and he is kissing me. My brain is telling me to pull away and say something snotty. My brain is trying to tell me how sick it is that only two days ago he was making out with that trashy blonde girl who had probably been around the entire town. But my brain is also telling me how much I loved this feeling of being in his arms. I curse it for sending such mixed signals. Finally I let the little voice in my head take over and I pull away.

"No…" I turn around and walk a few feet in the opposite direction, "No."

"What?"

"No, I am not just going to let you kiss me and make everything better. You still slept with—"

"Whoa," he says, raising his hands defensively. I glare at him inquisitively, "It didn't go that far."

"It went far enough for me to not forgive so easily."


	10. Chapter 10

For two weeks we don't talk. I don't acknowledge him and he doesn't acknowledge me. It seems as though he goes out of his way to make sure he doesn't see me in the hallway. And all along I wish I could say this didn't bother me. I wish I could say I didn't give a crap if he greeted me or came outside to eat lunch with me like he used to, but I can't. My feelings are so conflicted. I'm furious with him, but it doesn't stop a little piece of me from hoping he'll make eye contact with me when we pass in the hallway by some unavoidable coincidence.

I've never understood how girls can get hurt by a guy and still want him to want her, but I slowly see myself coming to a situation similar to that. If he treated me like crap then why do I want him in my life? What makes me think he won't betray my trust again? I hate this feeling that I have gotten weaker since the very first day Patrick walked into my life. He didn't even apologize; he didn't show any semblance of regret. It was as if he thought he was right to do what he did with that girl. Maybe it isn't that I am mad at him for what he did, but more that I can't stand for him to think he was right.

I'm walking to my car, lost in thoughts of how I'll spend my Friday night, when I am blocked by a familiar leather jacket. I raise an eyebrow, and glance beyond him at my car, implying that I want to be inside said car driving home instead of standing anywhere near him.

"Hey."

"Hey," I say with mock cheer.

"Been quiet lately," he states. I nod and shrug a little bit.

"Yeah," I reply, "it must be because every time I look at you I get this fierce desire to be lonesome."

I start to step around him but he expects the movement and steps in my path, putting my body less than an inch away from his, "And why's that?" he asks.

"You know why."

"Do I?"

"I'm sorry, did I overestimate your intelligence a little bit there?"

"Of course, that must be it since you're so much smarter than I am."

"Obviously so, since I am not the one who doesn't understand the concept of loyalty."

"At least I understand how to let things go."

"I've noticed," I reply. "You didn't have a problem letting me go."

This time I successfully make my way around him and get to my car. I open to the door, get in, and start the car. I see Patrick round my car in my rearview mirror and before I can hit the locks, the passenger side door opens and he slides inside.

"I don't like this," he says.

"I don't like _you."_

"I don't believe that and neither do you."

"Don't tell me what I believe," I say firmly. "Get out of my car."

He's quiet for a moment and I can tell that he is thinking, but not about getting out of my car, "I thought if I gave you time to cool off you might be easier to talk to."

"This _is_ me being easier to talk to. I'm not shoving you out of my car, am I?" I say, "But that might change any second now," I mutter.

"I'm sorry."

The words sound odd coming from someone who is so unapologetic about everything else in his life, but I know he means what he is saying. If he waited three weeks thinking that he might get away without saying them only to crawl back and apologize when he really thought he was losing me, then they must be sincere--_he_ must be sincere.

I stare at him, searching for some hint of insincerity to get me out of having to give in to the apology. My heart is telling me that I should forgive him, but my head is telling me to stay strong and refuse to give in to this apology; he had one chance and he blew it. Why should I believe he won't do it again? Why should I trust him and risk the betrayal?

Because it's all part of it. Because we're curious cats. We creep where we don't belong and find out what we already knew. I know I'll probably get hurt if I get back into this relationship, but the curiosity inside me begs me to go ahead and do it just to make sure; just to see how things will actually go so that I don't have to ask 'what if?' later on. "Did you take her to the beach, too?" I ask quietly, wanting to get the thought off of my mind before we make up and stop speaking about the situation.

"No," he answers, "You're the only one."

I can tell he isn't just talking about the beach now and I offer a little bit of a smile as I nod.

"I…have to get home," I put the key in the ignition. He nods.

The best part about Patrick Verona's kissing is that even when expected it still manages to surprise me. How he manages to do that might always remain a mystery to me.

"See you tonight," he says as he opens the door and gets out. I start the car and watch as he gets on his bike and rides away.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

When he wants to be, Patrick can be punctual. Any time he has ever shown up at my window it has been almost in sync with the clock flipping to 11:00. Tonight is no different. He doesn't knock for risk of waking my father, but instead just shows up in my uncovered windows with a seeking expression.

When we arrive at the beach, I get off the back of his bike and remove my helmet. When he has done the same I take a step toward the beach, but he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me back. I look up at him and the distance between our lips quickly diminishes. When he finally pulls back after the kiss, he smiles and my stomach does a cartwheel.

"Come on," he says, leading me toward the sand. We walk along the beach in silence for a while before I speak.

"So, you've met my family," I begin, "When am I going to meet your family?"

There's a slight hesitation before he sighs, "My family…"

"Yes, you know, the people you're related to."

"Or the people I wish I wasn't related to."

He doesn't have to say much more for me to imply that his home life isn't nearly as ideal as mine, with people that care. As much sense as it makes now that I know, I wasn't expecting that to be true.

"Oh."

"My dad died when I was thirteen," he explains.

"That's why you went through the trouble of saving my mom's records for me…because you can relate."

"It had something to do with that," he says, a smile appearing at his lips but quickly fading as he continues. "That picture that you saw in the keychain was the last picture that I took with him. That's why I keep it with me."

"What about your mom?"

"She drinks," he says as if that sums her up entirely, and there's a good chance that it does. "She disappears for weeks at a time so I basically live on my own. My grandparents have money to spare, so they pay for the rent and the car and everything. Of course if I weren't in the picture it wouldn't be that way."

"Not much of a parent."

"My family pretty much fell apart when my dad died," he says. He's quiet for a moment as we walk, his gaze focuses only on the long stretch of sand in front of us. I decide to lighten the mood a little bit.

"You know," I start, "I haven't actually been in the ocean since I've lived here."

"Oh really?" he asks mischievously. He quickly sheds his jacket, takes me hands and starts to pull me toward the water. I dig my heels into the damp sand beneath my feet.

"We can't go in now!"

"Why not?"

"It's dark!" I say as if going into the water at night causes instantaneous death, and for all I know it does. A smile indicates that he is amused by the oddity of this point.

"So?"

"Can't we wait until…daylight hours?"

"But we're here now; it's more convenient," he argues. I stop resisting and go toward the crashing waves with him. The water is cool as it washes over my feet and it feels oddly refreshing. I feel the sand pull from beneath my feet as it washes back into the ocean. He smiles and continues to walk me into the water, his pants becoming soaked with salt water, and my shorts eventually doing the same as we go even deeper. When the water is up to my waist we stop and he moves closer to me. The waves rush over my shoulders, covering me in a warm blanket and quickly snatching it away.

"Like it?" he asks with a knowing grin. My answer is obvious because I'm beaming. I let go of his hand and put my arms around his neck, trying to resist the rough sway of the water that makes us dance. His wet black t-shirt is fixed against his chest, making the contour of his body as visible as it would be if he didn't have a shirt on at all. My heart is pounding as I let my hand trail down his chest, a devilish smile spreading across my face. His expression begins to match mine and I know I have him.

"Love it," I say as I playfully push him. As planned, the unexpected force causes him to stumble backward and fall all the way into the water. He grabs my hand as he is going down and we both end up fully entrenched in the salty water. When I regain my footing and stand up I swipe my soaked hair out of my face and let myself fall into the water toward him and kiss him. He chuckles and cuts the kiss short.

"Apparently so," he leans back in and we continue. I don't know how long passes between then and the moment I say we should get back, but it seems as if it is only a few short minutes.

As we approach his bike he hands his jacket to me. I glance at the jacket and then up at him questioningly.

"You'll freeze if you ride home like that," he says. I know it's true so I accept the jacket despite my worry that he might get cold. Gradually the warmth that the jacket provides stops my shivering and I get on the back of his bike and he takes me home.

When we arrive at my house he walks me to my window. When we stop, I rise to my tiptoes and kiss him goodnight.

"Thanks for taking me swimming," I whisper. He wipes a strand of wet hair away from my face and smirks a little bit because we both know that it wasn't the swimming that we enjoyed so much.

"Goodnight," he says and he begins to walk away. Suddenly I realize that I'm still wearing his jacket.

"Wait," I call. He turns around to look at me. I unzip it, "Your jacket."

"Keep it for now. It looks good on you."


	12. Chapter 12

_I am terribly sorry that I have been so behind in my updates. I haven't had much time to write lately because of school and everything taking up so much of my time and brain power, and the nice weather begging me to go outside and enjoy it, but I as of today I am on spring break and will have a dangerous amount of free time on my hands, so hopefully I will be able to get a few updates to you guys in the next week to make up for the three weeks of zero chapters. This one's a little bit short, but I think it's leading up to something pretty good, so enjoy!_

* * *

Upon re-entering my room I immediately notice that something isn't right. The nightlight to the left of my bed was on when I snuck out earlier and now it isn't. I hurry over to nightstand and switch on the light.

"Boo!" says my sister in a hushed tone. I jump at the unexpected sight of her, "Oh, look who's sneaking out with a boy in the middle of the night."

"Does Dad know?" I ask, a stupid question since I know if he did that my window would have been locked.

"Why are you all wet?" she asks curiously as she looks me over. I glance at myself in the mirror across the room. I look like I've been living in the wilderness for a few days. My hair is ratty and my clothes are wet and dirty. My feet are still covered in patches of sand.

"We went swimming," I answer, and this time that word doesn't hold any implications.

"I didn't even know you made up. Did he do something sweet?" she asks, begging for dirty details.

I shrug, "He apologized."

"He didn't buy you flowers or sing to you or buy you something really nice? That is so boring!"

"I didn't want him to buy my forgiveness anyway."

"He pissed you off. Why not get a few nice things out of him?"

"You're right. I was all worried about my relationship going down the drain and I forgot about the more important things, like getting expensive gifts out of it. When will I learn?" I reply sarcastically. Bianca shakes her head at my apparent denseness.

"I'm just saying, that way when he makes you mad he'll pay for it in the most literal sense."

"Are you in my room waiting for me for any specific reason or would you mind if I just go ahead and shower and go to bed?"

"I actually just wanted to ask you a huge favor."

"This can't be good."

"There's a party this weekend…."

"I knew it wouldn't be good."

"And I really, really need you to go so that I can go, because--"

"Because Dad won't let you go unless I go. Yes, I know the rule," I say, noticeably irritable.

"Kat, please! Just do this one thing for me and I'll never ask--"

"Wow, this situation seems extremely familiar. Maybe because that is exactly what you said to con me into going to that dance."

"I actually begged Patrick to get you to go to that dance, so you're wrong."

I point a finger at her as a warning, "Don't get any ideas about that. He's just as disgusted with the high school social scene as I am."

"He doesn't seem so disgusted by being accompanied to a 'ridiculous' social gathering by you. So maybe he _will_ go."

"Bianca," I say, a warning that I am getting extremely frustrated, "just don't."

"Kat, I am so close to cementing my social status at Padua and this'll just get me that much closer."

"The answer is no."

"Then the answer to whether or not I will be keeping this little midnight sneak-in from dad is also a no," she shrugs, loving that this has played out the way she wanted it to. I have nothing to say in response so I just stand with my mouth hanging open, appalled with myself for just walking into this situation. I'm trapped. There is nothing I can do to get out of this because I am completely aware that my delusional little sister will do anything, including rat me out to my dad and consequently get Patrick banned from my life for good, in order to have the social life she dreams about.

After accepting my defeat and unhappily agreeing to go to this party, Bianca skips happily, and quietly, back to her bedroom to get to sleep. I shower, change, and get into bed, pondering how horrible the morning is going to feel due to my immense lack of sleep. When the sun lifts into the sky, I realize that the lack of sleep is actually affecting me worse than I had expected. Luckily, Bianca tells me I can go ahead and head to school on my own this morning because she is getting a ride from Joey. One less thing to make my day horrid.

I meet Patrick by my locker. He's leaning casually against my locker, waiting for me to round the corner. When I do, he peels himself away from it and watches me spin my combination and swing the door open. I place my unneeded books in the locker and remove my Sociology book. I close the door and turn around.

"Good morning," he says, glancing at a clock quickly before leaning in to kiss me.

"Good morning," I agree with a smile.

"You're here early."

"Yeah, well I didn't have to drag the beauty queen along today, so I got out of the house a good fifteen, twenty minutes earlier than normal," I say, my tone flat and unenthusiastic. He studies me because he can tell that something is off.

He narrows his eyes and subtly tilts his head, "Do you miss her?" he asks with an amused smile. I roll my eyes, a small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

"No."

"You look like kid who just flushed their goldfish down the toilet."

"Well, something is going down the toilet, but it isn't my goldfish, it's my dignity," I begin. He takes my hand and we begin walking toward my first class, even though we have plenty of time before first hour begins, "Bianca caught me sneaking in last night."

"And she told on you?"

"No, but she's blackmailing me; the only way she can go to that party on Saturday is if I go, so she is threatening to rat me out unless I go, which means—"

"That you have to go."

"Exactly. And I would rather eat my own hand than go to a party with a bunch of drunk teens who are all high on themselves."

"I'll go with you."

"I tell you I'd rather eat myself than forcibly go to this thing and you volunteer to go?"

He smiles, "Charitable act," he says. "I have a big heart."


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you guys so much for the comments. __**Please **__keep them coming! I love to hear what you think of each chapter so comments and criticism are welcomed…..__and will probably help produce quicker updates._

* * *

I look at the crowd of drunk, promiscuous teenagers that surrounds us and scoff. I spend five days a week running from this crap, and here I am being dragged to it on a Saturday night, when I should be lounging at home with a book. Patrick grasps my hand and leans closer to speak to me over the noise of the crowd.

"Let's find somewhere quieter," he practically yells. I nod and follow as he leads me through a swarm of future Playboy Bunnies that are dancing to the hip-hop song being blasted over the speakers. We go up the winding stairs until we come to the dimly lit second floor, which apparently serves as the location of the only bathroom in the house, a fact made evident by the line of three or four people outside the door, the very first person banging on the door with their fist and demanding that the occupant hurry.

Patrick knocks on one of the doors that align the hallway and opens it when there is no response. He closes it behind us as I observe the room we now occupy. Its obviously not regularly occupied by anyone that lives in the house, but instead it looks like a place for guests. It's tidy; the mint green floral bedspread is smoothly made, with the throw pillows arranged admirably, and the beige carpet looks as if it has never been walked on.

"Peace and quiet," I whisper into the silent room. He smiles at me and takes a seat on the bed, ruining the tidiness of the patterned bedspread. I turn on one of the bedside lamps, which dimly lights the small corner of the room, and then take a seat beside him. We're quiet for a moment before I turn to look at him as if to ask what we do now. Feeling my gaze, he looks over at me. Neither of us seem to feel the need to speak. The space between our lips begins to diminish and I can't wait for our lips to meet. My heart races and when our lips finally do meet our eyes simultaneously close so we can enjoy it. I feel his tracing the contour of my back. My hand is contently placed on his neck, which is so hot that for a moment I am afraid it will leave a burn on my fingers. I handle him like I handle my heart: quietly guarded. Even that doesn't keep me from being swept away like a stone lost in the waves.

The kiss is gentle, but captivating, a mixture of sweet Root Beer and salty ocean water. With a kiss like this we didn't need to find a quiet place, because the entire world, drunken noise and music and all, would have faded into the background anyway. Slowly, he guides me down to the lying position, the transition so natural that I don't even notice it has taken place.

Suddenly, I snap out of this sensual trance and open my eyes. The intensity of the moment has washed away; reality is slowly coming back into focus. His hand is at my waistline, working to blindly undo the button on my jeans. I turn my head to avoid is lips. He continues, moving down my neckline.

"Pat," I breathe slowly. No response. "Patrick."

"Mhmm."

"Pat, stop," I say, trying to sit up. He's on top of me now, so consumed in what he is doing that he barely notices I'm speaking. I feel the fabric separate as the button comes undone. "Patrick, stop!" I say more urgently. This time I seem to break the trance and he stops and looks at me questioningly, almost as if he is slighted by my interruption.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" I involuntarily snap at him, "What are you doing?"

He narrows his eyes at me as if I am a puzzle he is trying to solve, all the while looking increasingly aggravated, "What are you so pissed about?"

I can tell by the sudden softening of his expression that I look distraught. I quickly move from the bed.

"We should go now," I mutter. I stand up, re-buttoning my jeans quickly, and awkwardly walking to the door.

"Kat, wait," he says, standing up and walking to where I stand. I turn, my hand still on the knob, ready to open the door and let the noise of the party flood in. "I got carried away."

"I noticed," I retort. I avert my gaze for a moment and then look back up at him. His stare isn't accusing, like he thinks I'm overreacting or like I am wrongly putting blame on him for something; he seems eager to make me feel better, like he feels guilty. My anger slowly melts away and I am left with very little to say. I can't honestly say that I think just one of us is to blame since I didn't exactly lead him to believe that I was totally against the idea of going further tonight than we previously have.

"I thought we were on the same page with where it was going…."

I don't say it, but I know in my mind that we were both on the same page for a few short minutes, before I snapped out of my delusional mindset and realized the depth of the situation I was about to get into. I swipe a stray strand of hair behind my ear and set my gaze on him. "This just isn't the time or place," I say quietly.

* * *

I have a hard time falling asleep as I think about the foregoing evening. I'm starting to think that I'll never have this all figured out. Every time I think I do, something happens and the doubts flood back into my head. It scares me how Patrick can just make me lose all of my inhibitions and nearly do something that in the past has only brought regret. It scares me that I didn't catch myself right away.

The truth is, I have my life all planned out before me, and have since I was five. Graduate high school with honors, go on to an ivy league school, save the earth, be a notable women's rights activist--all in the plan. Have a boyfriend who doesn't even have a plan for the next week of his life, let alone the rest of it--not in the plan. His lack of planning for his life doesn't bother me nearly as much as the lack of short-term planning. He doesn't know what he wants; what if today I _am_ what he wants and tomorrow I'm not? What would have happened if I had slept with him tonight? What would come of it? A simple "Have a nice life, baby," or would things have just stayed the same? I didn't want to take the risk.

It's like I know where he stands, but at the same time I get mixed signals that make me doubt that this could work. Neither of us have really told each other how we feel because it's just implied by the way we don't get disgusted by making out or holding each other's hand. I'm assuming he has the same motive behind his silence as I do; we don't want to put ourselves out there and end up hurt or disappointed, but in all reality, if neither one of us want to take that risk, then are we really dedicated enough to this relationship to make it work? But upon second thought, actions say more than words, and have _I _really done anything to convince him of my dedication? He's never worked for a relationship before, probably because he never saw a need to, so maybe just the fact that he has put forth so much effort toward getting to know me and making me want him should clue to me that he plans to stick with this for more than a week. After all, if he is going to work so hard for something then it better last long enough to be worth the time, right?


	14. Chapter 14

_I think I'm psychic, because I was already in the process of writing this chapter about jealous Patrick when someone commented and suggested it. Great minds think alike I suppose. Thank you to everyone that commented. It definitely helped give me the motivation to write a great chapter, so please keep them coming. It feels great to hear everyone say how much they enjoy this story because I enjoy writing it for you guys._

* * *

I slam my car door shut and saunter toward my house, which I am particularly happy to see on this dreary, rainy Monday. I'll be even happier to see my loving bed, but I stop short as my gaze lands on a recognizable and unwanted face staring up at me from the front porch step.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, sounding more panicked than I intend. How did he find me? What could he possibly want with me? Why do I even care at all that he is here? He comes to the standing position and takes a step toward me. The gray eyes and the auburn hair have remained the same since I last saw him, but I don't have the same weak-in-the-knees feeling that I always used to get when he looked at me.

"I have family that lives about two hours from here," he explains. I shed the shock that had washed over me and gather myself enough to respond with something intelligible.

"So why aren't you two hours away from here?" I snap. Something is different about him, but I can't quite figure out what it is.

"Because I wanted to see you."

"Really?" I smile a little bit as if I am amused by this statement, "You weren't too thrilled to see me the twenty times I tried to talk to you after we got drunk and slept together, though, Evan." I study his face as he conjures a lame reply. Now I know what has changed; The overwhelming confidence that he used to speak to me with is now gone. He isn't smooth-talking me or trying to charm his way to my heart. I like the change, because I am finally getting my chance to treat him like trash like he did to me.

He inhales sharply, becoming increasingly frustrated, "Can you please--I came all the way here. Can you please just give me five minutes?" he exhales. I'm about to refuse when I recall something Patrick said to me. _You're like a brick wall. You make up your mind and that's that. _This seemed to have been one of few qualities in me that Patrick has ever blatantly displayed distaste for. I decide to change that, not because I care what qualities Patrick dislikes in me, but because I know he's be honest with me about my negative qualities and improvement has been my game lately. I reluctantly turn back to Evan, contemplating giving him a chance to speak to me. Seeing this, he speaks again, "I'll make it quick."

I check in the kitchen quickly to make sure we can get through the living room without being seen by Bianca, and then we head up to my bedroom. My dad will be home soon, but surely I can just sneak him out the window.

"Close the door behind you," I say as I enter my bedroom. I drop my backpack down beside my bed, waiting for him to start speaking so I can start counting down the five minutes before I get the pleasure of kicking him out.

"How are you?" He inquires nervously. He takes a quick but perceptive look around my room and then turns back to me, waiting for an answer.

"Great," I reply with a mocking smile even though for the most part it is true, "You?"

"I'm okay," he replies, "How's California?"

"Are you really wasting your five minutes asking me a bunch of pointless questions?"

"Look," he begins timidly, "I made a bet with Kyle that night that I could…have a better night than him. I won the bet, and afterward I just--"

"Lost interest? The game was too easy for you after that point, right?"

To my surprise, he nods, not only confirming, but agreeing that he was a huge jackass that night, almost as if he has developed a conscience. "I'm sorry."

I look back on our situation. A week after we went to Taco Bell on our first date, he asked me to come to this party with him. In fact, he practically begged me, so I felt obligated. I thought it was sweet that he wanted to spend time with me so badly, when in reality it was all just a scheme; he brought me to that party for the sole purpose of winning that bet. I look at the passing weekend, wondering if maybe Patrick had done the same thing, just to win the bet with the part of himself that said he would never be able to have me. Just to prove that no girl was too big of a challenge. I hate the thought of having been fooled in the same way twice, so I push it out of my mind. I am about to open my mouth and release a bitchy response, when I am stopped.

There's a knock on the shaded window across the room and I feel my heart nearly leap out of my chest. I panic. I can't get Evan out of the house without Patrick seeing, and I certainly don't want to risk running into my dad on the way out, so I turn to my closet and open it with such force that I'm pretty sure it almost comes off the hinges.

"Go!" I demand, giving him a nice thrust to quicken the response. I close the closet door and rush to the window. I let the shade fly up and spin around the reel a few times while I unlock the window that acts as a barrier between us.

"Hey," he says. I hope that the panic isn't reading on my face as I smile at him. I step aside for him to climb in, because I don't know how to keep him out without seeming suspicious.

"Hi," I reply, "You're early. I'm not used to seeing you in my window during daylight hours."

"I thought it would be a pleasant surprise," he says, properly greeting me with a kiss. It's a surprise seeing him here, but I can't say that it is pleasant at this specific moment.

"It is. But if my dad comes home and catches you here he'll kill you….with a dull knife."

He smiles, "I believe that," he says. "I walked the bike here because I saw his car in the driveway."

With a smile, he passes me, and walks over to my bookshelf where he begins reading silently through some of the titles. I'm about to suggest that he comes back later, but before I can even begin I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs nearing my room.

"So, have you--" he begins, but is cut off.

"Kat!" I hear my dad sing. Looking at Patrick, I freak out and start pushing him back toward the window. For a moment I consider this a blessing; I'll have an excuse to get him out. Or so it seems until he dodges my pushing and smoothly makes his way in the other direction--to my closet. He is inside before I can protest, and as the closet door closes, my bedroom door opens to reveal my dad. I internally cringe, knowing that inside my closet is one very angry boyfriend, staring into the face one very confused, apologetic loser. I know that I am failing miserably at hiding my uneasiness, but my dad doesn't seem to notice as he beams happily at me and hands me an envelope that must have come in the mail.

"How was school?"

"It was…good. I got an A on my Chemistry test."

"Well, that's no surprise," he chuckles proudly, "You did study through dinner last night."

"What's for dinner tonight?" I ask, hoping the question will remind him that something in the kitchen is burning, threatening to set off the fire alarms and potentially burn our house down.

"I found a recipe online that you're going to love. It's for a casserole that has--"

"Oh, surprise me!" I interrupt, throwing my hands over my ears and smiling cutely.

"Okay then, I'll go downstairs and make the…." He smiles, "Well, I can't tell you, because it's a surprise!"

I nod and bid him goodbye as he leaves the room, telling me that dinner will be done in a half hour. The door closes behind him and I listen to the footsteps fade. I turn back to the closet door and before my hand can reach the knob, the door flies open, clipping my shoulder as it does. Though a bruise is forming and I should be wincing in pain, I am so distracted by the situation at hand that I barely even notice. Patrick shoves Evan out of the closet roughly and then follows him into plain view in the center of my room.

"Got something you need to explain to me, Kat?" He asks, his tone more harsh than I have ever heard it..

"Look, I'm not--" Evan tries to explain for me, realizing that he has caused more trouble for me than he intended.

"Shut up and let her talk!" Patrick snaps, his eyes still fixed intently on me, waiting for an explanation.

"This is Evan," I say simply because everything else I want to say is lost in my mind at the moment. He raises an eyebrow.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Evan is from Ohio…" I say, "We, uh, dated."

I don't know Patrick well enough to be able to read him, but as the cliché goes, he can read me like a book, and he knows that this isn't just some guy from Ohio that I dated. He knows that this is _the _guy from Ohio that I dated.

"Oh, I see," he says, but his voice still doesn't lighten up. He turns to Evan as if he should have something to add. Like _I slept with her and blew her off the next day._

But instead Evan just says: "I was just in town and I decided to stop by," Patrick studies him intensely as he speaks. When his eyes meet mine I can see Patrick become even more tense, "I had a few apologies to make."

I'm afraid that if either one of us speaks the ticking time bomb that is Patrick will blow up and beat the shit out of Evan. It's not that he doesn't deserve it, but more that it will make noise and alert my dad that I am up here with not one, but two guys.

And then the fear becomes a reality. With one swift movement, Patrick grabs a hold of the front Evan's shirt and violently slams him against the wall, causing my bulletin board to fall to the floor and scatter pictures and memos everywhere.

"A hell of a lot of nerve you have coming around here," He says through gritted teeth. There was a time when I would welcome Patrick to beat him shitless, but I suppose that time left when the wrestling match began to unfold in front of my eyes. Especially with my dad downstairs in the kitchen apt to hear all of it, rush up here to find two guys in my bedroom, and then send me off to a convent. Plus, if he's going to get the crap beaten out of him, I want to do the honors.

"Patrick!" I gasp. I quickly turn around and look at the door, positive that my dad will be coming through it any second now to make sure I didn't slip and crack my head open in the bathroom, "Patrick, stop!" I say firmly, grabbing at his arm pleadingly. Looking none to happy about it, he loosens his grip and steps away. Evan doesn't move from where he is. Being that Patrick has a few inches on him, and obviously quite a bit of strength, I don't blame him, "What the hell are you doing?" I demand.

"I should go," Evan chokes out, not moving from his spot. Patrick takes his gaze off me and looks back at the boy standing against the wall, who looks completely stunned by what just took place.

"I'd say so," Patrick agrees callously. I shoot a look at him and then advert my gaze back to Evan, who is stealthily retreating from the wall and making his way toward my bedroom door.

"Wait!" I say. He stops and, though annoyed, spins on his heal to face me. I turn to Patrick, wishing I could get this bittersweet taste out of my mouth after what just happened, "_You_ should go. I'll text you later."

He waits for a moment and then accepts the request, "Fine." I watch him climb back out the window he just came through.

When he is out of sight I turn to Evan, who is straightening out the front of his red band t-shirt. Noticing my gaze, he looks up. A clear expression isn't visible on his face, but when he speaks his tone says it all. He's no longer apologetic. "I didn't deserve that."

"I know," I say. I feel bad, because he's right. He came over with good intentions only to be roughed up by my boyfriend for no apparent reason. I can hate him for what he has done to me, but I can't hate him for what he came to do today. "Sorry about that."

"I'm going to get going," he says. Having observed that my window is the preferred way of coming and going, he heads in that direction. He proceeds to climb out my window and disappear.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter**

I know I told Patrick I would text him later, but after everything was said and done I couldn't bring myself to do so, which means the next time I see him is when I arrive at school the next morning. I open my car door to find him leaning against the back of my car looking about as happy as he did the previous day when he was climbing out of my window.

"I didn't get a text last night."

"I know," I reply curtly, "It was an eventful night so I shut my phone off and went to bed."

"In other words, you're freezing me out."

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"Well, you're making it pretty easy to do so while you're not saying anything," he snaps, "Did you hang out with your friend all night or something?" He asks accusingly. I shove past him, hoping that my shoulder brief hits him in the crotch as I do, because that comment warrants it.

I keep walking, and he follows, "Yes, you caught me," I begin without glancing back. "We sat in my room all night and poked pins in a voodoo doll with strands of your hair glued to it. Oh, and then we sat around and laughed about how you think you're badass because you wear a leather jacket and drive a motorcycle."

"And I spent the entire night laughing at how naïve you are for forgiving that jackass and not letting me beat the shit out of him for you."

I stop and turn to face him now that the issue has been brought to the surface. "I didn't stop you because I had forgiven him. I stopped you because I didn't want you to get involved." I realize after I say it what a slap in the face it is. He's so dedicated to me that he was willing to beat Evan up for wronging me before we'd even met. I take a deep breath and try to regain calmness. "It isn't that I don't appreciate your willingness to cause bodily harm to someone that hurts me; I just think it would have been more trouble than necessary."

"It wouldn't have been any trouble at all," he replies slyly, cocking his head to the side and smiling as if he thinks it's cute that I would think otherwise.

I scoff at how poorly he's thought this out. "Yeah, until he called the police."

"That wasn't going to happen."

"Oh, right. Because by the time you were done with him he wouldn't have fully functioning limbs to call the police with."

He smiles and nods, obviously impressed, "Now you're getting it."

"No, no I am not. You had no right to do what you did, regardless of how good your intentions were toward me."

He throws his hands up in defeat, "Point made. Beating people up is a no-no."

"I can beat people up myself anyway. You said it yourself once before," I say proudly. I start to turn around, but Patrick grips my arm, stopping me. He brings me closer to him and kisses me.

"That's what I like about you."

I gaze into his chocolate brown eyes as he examines my expression intently. "And what I like about you is that you like that about me."

He nods. "Is he gone…for good?"

"I'm pretty sure you made certain of that," I say. He smiles proudly, slides his arm around my waist and guides me toward the school.

I can't lie and say that I don't almost have a heart attack when I see Patrick sitting at my desk as I walk out of my bathroom freshly showered. I can't blame him for not wanting to wait outside, though, because it has gotten chilly.

"What are you doing here?" I snap accidentally. My snapping doesn't faze him--not tonight or any other time I do it. He greets me with a smile.

"I have a surprise for you."

"Another one?" I ask dryly, my heart is still beating from the surprise of seeing him in my room uninvited. He stands up and walks closer to me. Swiping my hair from my face he kisses me gently. When we pull away, I'm not given a chance to react to the kiss. Instead of waiting for my response like he usually does, he pulls two slips of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and holds them in front of my face. It takes a moment for me to realize what they are.

"Oh my gosh!" I laugh excitedly as I take them from him. I'd mentioned a few weeks earlier that I wanted to see Filthy Souls in concert again since I wasn't able to see more than one song at the club. Now, thanks to Patrick, I'm holding the tickets in my hands. I hug him, catching him off guard and knocking him off balance a bit, "Thank you so much!" I pull away and excitedly look at the tickets again.

Patrick moves toward me and wraps his hand around my waist. "So here is what I have planned: we'll head out early afternoon, go get some dinner, book a hotel room, go to the concert and then crash--"

"Whoa, wait a second," I say, my smile fading. He looks at me questioningly, "We're going to stay the night? In a hotel…together?"

"Unless you want to drive two hours home at one in the morning while I sleep, yes, that's the plan."

"My dad isn't going to let that happen."

He sighs and points to the tickets in my hands, "What date is listed on there?"

I glance down, "December fourth," I say, unable to see how this matters. With his hand still wrapped around my waist, he moves me over to the calendar that hangs on my bulletin board. Lifting the month of November up, he reveals the 31 days that make up December and points to the first one, which is decorated crazily in purple marker with circles and a sloppily drawn birthday hat. He slides his finger three days over and then looks at me. I stare blankly at him because in my excitement I'm still not grasping what he is trying to explain to me.

Seeing this, he explains. "By December fourth you'll have been eighteen for four days," he says, "Your dad doesn't have to approve of this."

He's right. Technically I could do whatever I want come my birthday, whether that be buying a lottery ticket or getting a tattoo of Tweety Bird, but for some reason that seems so wrong. It seems wrong to rub my age in my dad's face by spending the night in a hotel with a boy that he hasn't approved of from the beginning, "Patrick, I can't."

He lets out a sigh of frustration. "Don't you ever just want to do something to please yourself? Something you'll enjoy regardless of what anyone else says or wants?" he asks coolly.

"I--" I begin to defend myself but stop when he holds up a hand that informs me of his lack of interest in what I have to say.

He leans closer to me, "All you ever talk about is doing your own thing regardless of what other people expect of you, but you're not really doing that. Your dad controls your entire life and you don't even see it."

"That is not true!" I argue vehemently, trying to think of any other situation that could have given him the idea that what he says is a fact.

"Then agree to make this concert an overnight experience," he challenges. I don't like the way he is testing me, and I am tempted to hand the tickets back to him and refuse to accept them. Before I can, though, he turns around and starts walking toward the window. He glances back before climbing out.

"Sleep on it," he mumbles. And although I roll my eyes like I'm not going to think about anything other than REM sleep tonight, I do think about it.

In fact, I think about it too much. Maybe he's right. Maybe in my quest to not do what everyone else wants just to make them happy I actually have really been doing just that. But not for everyone, just for my dad. If not for him, maybe Patrick and I would have been together sooner. Maybe I would have been more apt to show what I actually felt for Patrick if I hadn't thought it would disappoint my dad so much. Perhaps everything would have been easier if I had truly been trying to please myself instead of inadvertently trying to deny what I wanted in order to keep him happy.

A scary thought enters my head; maybe I should be more like Bianca. Not in the wanting everyone to adore me for shallow reasons way, but in the having more interest in making myself happy than caring about what all the negative people say kind of way. Bianca has been putting up with my insults about her shallow ways for years without giving in and giving them up. Even my dad has thrown some unenthusiastic comments about the subject her way a few times. Yet, through it all she has managed to keep her mind set steadily on what she wants.

I've never known what I wanted when it came to Patrick like Bianca does with her popularity. Granted, they are slightly different in obvious ways since one is a person and the other is just an idea, but I still feel as if it means something. Sometimes I want Patrick to disappear and other times I want to be with him. Sometimes I don't care if my dad hates him and other times it worries me. My mind has never been set on having Patrick like Bianca's is on becoming popular. I guess she has one-up on me when it comes to achieving things that she wants purely for her own personal life, for her enjoyment and no one else's.

I've never questioned who I am and what I want more than I have since Patrick has been in my life.


	16. Chapter 16

_Sorry the chapters have been pretty slow lately. I'm really going to try my best to get a chapter to you guys every week, or at least half of one so you have something. I think part of the problem was that I was watching the show follow one plot-line and then trying to write my own at the same time. Hopefully now that it is over I can get back to writing. Something good has to come from the tragedy of them canceling our beloved show, right? Enjoy!_

**Chapter 16**

"Dad?" I ask as I flip through the pages of a National Geographic magazine, pausing every so often to pretend to read something; my mind is on everything except elephants and aggressive alligators. He glances up from the tomato he is cutting with a smile, "My birthday is in two weeks and Patrick wants-"

"Wants to have sex to celebrate your entrance into adulthood? Age means nothing when it comes to sex, Kat! Getting pregnant is tough at any age, especially when you're not married," he says frantically. He pauses and then adds, "Don't get married either!"

"Dad," I say, staying calm in the face of his panic, "He bought me tickets to a concert."

"Oh, well that doesn't seem to have any serious consequences," he narrows his eyes at me intensely, "unless there is going to be drinking or drugs involved."

"Nope, none of that," I reply, nervously folding the tip of a page about polar bears and global warming forward and back, "but the concert is a few hours away and we'd have to drive back pretty late."

"Well, just drive the speed limit and-"

"We actually wanted to spend the night there and just drive back the next morning," I say, spitting the words out quickly so that I don't second guess myself and avoid telling him altogether.

He stops slicing the tomato and looks up at me, "Stay the night…like in a hotel….with Man-boy?" He doesn't sound happy about it, judging by the use of his nickname for Patrick, which he only uses in cases where he has a specific reason to be disgusted by him.

"You know, they say that driving without the proper amount of sleep impairs your ability to drive almost as much as alcohol."

"Kat," he sighs, knowing that he doesn't have a lot to argue that with.

I take a deep breath, "Dad, I'm almost eighteen and I have been listening to your lectures about not getting pregnant since I was nine. We'll be sleeping in that hotel room. That's it. I promise."

He smiles and shakes his head, "Oh, I'm not falling for that one," he says, wagging a finger in my face.

"Well, you don't have to. By then I'll be eighteen and I am choosing to go, whether you like it or not," I say, and although my tone is gentle, the words are not, "Please, just trust me on this."

"Fine, but I won't be happy about it."

"They were amazing!" I gush, my hair blowing in the wind that is entering from the open passenger window. Patrick glances at me with a satisfied smile and keeps driving, eyes laid on the empty city street ahead of us, "Thank you so much. This is the best birthday present I've ever gotten."

"I have a knack for gift giving, or so I've heard," he replies. I look at him inquisitively and laugh, because for some reason I can't see him spending hours dwelling over what to get someone for Christmas or their birthday.

"From who?"

"You…about four times now."

"Sorry, I just had so much fun!" I brush my hair away from my face, a useless gesture since it blows right back. I roll my window up and brush it out of my face again, this time with success. Patrick glances at me and smiles in reply to my apology.

With that, the excitement starts to wear off and exhaustion sets in. I lean my head against the headrest as we drive in silence. A few minutes pass and I open my eyes again. I glance at Patrick, who is searching the right side of the street for our hotel. "Patrick?"

"Hmm," he responds, not taking his mind off of his current task.

"Thanks again," I say. He nods, obviously sick of my excessive gratefulness, but not willing to make me aware. He finally locates the hotel and makes a sharp right hand turn into the parking lot. He stops at the front doors.

"I'll run in and get our room keys," he says as he slides out of the driver's seat, leaving the car running. He disappears into the building and reappears seconds later. He pulls around the back of the building by the entrance that is closest to our room.

The door to the hotel room swings open and I stop in my tracks, backpack of overnight necessities in hand. The room is tiny, made cramped by the two armchairs, a desk, and a TV sitting atop the bulky dresser. In the center of all of that is the bed-the one and only bed, perfectly sized for two guests.

I hear Patrick mumble a few obscenities from behind me. "Be right back," he says. By the time I turn around to gather his reaction, he is already swiftly retreating down the hallway. I follow him and enter the lobby as he is arguing with the person at the desk about the room he reserved.

"Two beds. How much clearer could I have possibly made it?" He snaps in response to whatever the man at the counter had just said to him about the apparent mix-up.

"Like I said, the computer says single bed, so-"

I hurry up to where he is and grab his arm before he can spit an angry response at the desk attendant. The last thing we need is to be escorted out and then have to choose between sleeping in my car or driving around looking for another hotel that looks like it might be cleaner than the bathroom floor of a bar. Because quite honestly, the chance of finding another decent hotel within an hour of driving is pretty slim. I pull him aside. He sends one more angry glare in the direction of the desk attendant before turning his full attention to me.

"Patrick," I say, a comforting smile plastered on my face, "It's no big deal. Let's just take the room."

He stares blankly at me for a moment, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine," I shrug, trying to make it seem like no big deal. He surely doesn't mind as long as I don't mind.

"I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea…"

"I know," I assure him, my appreciation evident in my voice, "It's okay."

"Okay," he replies. With one last look of contempt at the desk attendant he walks away with me and we head back to the room. My bag is in the doorway keeping the door ajar. I snatch it up and enter the room. I set it on the bed and turn to look at Patrick as he closes the door behind him.

"I'm not tired," I state. He looks at me quizzically.

"You were practically falling asleep in the car a second ago."

"Well, it was a nice, refreshing power-nap."

A smile graces his features and he takes a step toward me, "So what do you suggest we do to burn off all this excess energy you have?" He inquires. I take a step toward him and lace my fingers with his. I look up into his eyes, filled with desire and admiration. I rise to my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his lips. One kiss turns into two kisses, and before long I feel the support of an overused hotel mattress underneath me.


	17. Chapter 17

_Okay, so I sort of made this a tiny bit of a continuation of the last scene in the finale. It isn't too in depth since the circumstances are obviously a bit different, but it wraps up one of the points in that scene that really nagged at me when the episode ended. I know I saw a comment about a continuation so I was kind of excited that I am on the same track as at least one of my readers as far as good plots. I know this chapter is short. I tried to make it longer but it kind of ruined the flow of the story. Luckily, I already have a nice idea for the next couple of chapters so they should be of decent length. Thank you guys for reading. Please please please continue to comment!_

**Chapter 17**

Breathless and slick with sweat, I lie next to him with my eyes closed, gathering myself. I'm having a hard time thinking about anything other than what happened, but luckily right now that is all that warrants my attention anyway. I open my eyes and turn to look at him. His eyes are already fixed on me. A smile graces his features and as if it is contagious, I smile as well.

"That was nice," I say. I don't think I've ever seen him look more gorgeous than he does right now as he lays next to me, shirtless and sweaty, his hair even messier than usual.

"Ouch," he replies, provoking an inquisitive look from me. Seeing that I am clueless as to what he is talking about, he chuckles a little bit.

"What?"

"I was expecting a little more than 'nice' after that."

I gently swat at his muscular arm, "Well I wouldn't want to inflate your ego anymore." With a smirk, he turns his gaze back up to the ceiling. I love that for once I actually know what is going through his mind; for two people with differing opinions and thoughts on most things, it is comforting to see that we are on the same page right now. It sparks a bit of bravery inside of me. I prop myself up onto my elbows. "Patrick, can I ask you a favor?"

He rolls onto his side and nods, encouraging me to continue, "Yeah."

"Don't break my heart, okay?"

He nods and the look in his eyes tells me that he genuinely wants to do that favor for me. "Okay."

His eyes avert toward my hand and he reaches for it, smoothly gathers it in his hand and holds it. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Surprised, I smile, "What is it?"

He pauses, his gaze avoiding my face. When we regain eye contact the vulnerability in his stare is unfamiliar and odd, "Return the favor."

I nod, and with our hearts in each others hands and trust radiating, we fall into a deep, content sleep next to each other.

When I awake in the morning, Patrick isn't next to me. For a split second I wonder if it was all a dream, but then I see him walking toward me, looking rather tired. I probably look just as exhausted.

"Morning," he greets me, handing me a granola bar. Cookies n' Cream, my favorite.

"Thanks," I say. I start unwrapping it but stop when my phone buzzes. I look to the nightstand where I left it the previous night. It isn't there, but when it buzzes again I look down to find it on the floor. It must have buzzed off.

"It's been doing that for while. It woke me up," he informs me as I reach down and snatch it up. 44 new texts. 18 missed calls. All from my dad.

"It's sweet that my dad is more certain that big foot exists than that my boyfriend won't kill me and dump my body in a remote area."

"It's good to know that he thinks so highly of me," Patrick says sarcastically as he unwraps his own granola bar.

"Maybe one day he'll warm up to you," I say hopefully as I set my phone down on my pillow. Patrick scoffs. Apparently the statement is just as unbelievable as I thought.

"Maybe, if I was nowhere in the vicinity of his daughter."

"Probably not even then," I laugh as I grab my robe of the floor and put it on. I unfold myself from the bed and stretch, a yawn pushing at the back of my throat. Patrick is already showered and dressed, which makes me feel lazy. It's nine o'clock already. I sit back down on the bed, waiting for the energy that should have been gained from those four hours of sleep to kick in. I feel the bed move as Patrick crosses it and sits beside me.

"So, last night was fun," he says. I can't disagree with the statement, so I feel my cheeks turn the slightest bit pink. I turn to look at him and shrug nonchalantly, but just by the look on his face I can tell he knows my exact feelings about last night.

"Eh."

"You're right," he says in agreement with his own made-up statement, "It would have been much more fun on a beach."

We pull into my driveway and I glance up at the window overlooking the driveway. Sure enough, I can see my dad peaking through the blinds, thinking nobody can see his eye through the two separated slats. I put the car in park and look at Patrick.

"I know I've said it already, but-"

"You're welcome," he says, paired with an exasperated sigh and a smile.

I glance up at the window where my dad still remains, watching to see if Patrick gives him a reason to buy a sniper.

"I'm glad I decided to go."

"I think it was good for you," he says, following my gaze up to my dad. He leans forward and waves half heartedly at the window. The slats immediately fall shut.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

I shove through a wall of ignorant Sophomore girls to get through to my locker, which normally irritates me, but when I reach the other side of the wall to see Patrick standing by my locker, it gives me reason to not bother wasting my breath to make snotty comments to them regarding their choice of location for their standing.

"Happy Monday," he greets me, sarcasm rich in his tone. I shrug. Regardless of the day of the week, I feel the same at 8:00 in the morning.

I start spinning the numbers of my combination, "Well, considering I don't buy into the stigma of Mondays being the root of all evil, it is in fact a happy Monday."

"I suppose I should have seen that coming."

"Probably," I agree. He smiles, leaning against the locker beside mine while I empty my books into my locker and remove the ones I need for class.

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" he asks, and odd question since the previous weekend ended less than ten hours ago.

"You mean do I have plans made five days in advance? No, I don't."

"We should go to dinner again."

"As long as you can find a restaurant that serves something other than dead cows, pigs, and chickens….oh, and no fish."

He gives me a weird look that quickly transforms into a smile. "La Casa de Verona will serve whatever is requested." I pause in the middle of putting my Chemistry book away. To say I am shocked would be an understatement. He shows up at my bedroom window at least three times a week, but I have no idea where he lives. It's information like that that he has never willingly offered up. I'm curious, so I welcome the idea, but I wonder why he suddenly wants to let me in to a part of his life that I've never been welcome to before.

"Your house?" He nods and I drop my chemistry book into my locker and turn to him with interest, "You cook?"

"No, I order take-out and put it on nice plates," he says with a smile so charming that I overlook the lack of effort being put forth.

"I appreciate your honesty." I close my locker and we begin walking toward my first hour class.

The small, shabby house on Mountain View doesn't seem any different from a hundred other aging bungalows in the neighborhood. A particularly unfortunate shade of yellow paint peeling off the wood trim on the front porch, a shaggy lawn, a few small trees. It looks quite ordinary, in fact, like you could see it in any quiet, suburban neighborhood in America.

I put my car in park and look more closely.

"It's…." I smile as I try to find the right word, "quaint."

"Quaint." He approves the word with a nod, confirming that he finds it to be an appropriate adjective for the place that he lives. We get out of the car and he leads me to the door.

Any natural scent that the house normally possesses is covered by the scent of the take-out that is already in the kitchen waiting for us to consume it.

"What is La Casa de Verona serving tonight?" I inquire, the scent overwhelming me and making my stomach growl so loud that I swear he can hear it.

"Rice and vegetables. I figured I would keep it simple."

"Wise decision. Not a lot that can be wrong with the basic rice and vegetable meal." I follow him into the kitchen where he opens the oven and pulls out two glass plates that are already made. I glance around, but I don't see any take-out containers. However, a pot with dried up rice still left in it is sitting on the back burner of the stove waiting to be washed. Despite his expressed intentions to order take-out, it seems that he actually made the meal himself. "So you do cook?" I inquire, motioning toward the pot.

"There was a bit of a cooking hiatus after the food poisoning incident last month….but I decided that this event would note the day I resumed cooking."

"On that note…let's eat!" I test one of the plates he set on the counter to make sure it is isn't going to burn me. When it proves to be safe to touch, I pick it up and wait for him to lead to wherever we will eat. He smiles and leads me to a small dining room right outside the kitchen. The many scratches on the wooden table we sit down at imply that it has been around for a while. I notice the faint smell of smoke rising from the cushions on the chairs as we sit down and the pristine plaid curtains that hang from the window, looking out of place in such an unfriendly room. The wall behind Patrick is the perfect wall for pictures and wall decorations, but it has been left a harsh gray. It's a long haul from what my own dining room looks like. "How long have you lived here? In this area, I mean."

"We've lived in the area my entire life. We moved into this house when I was nine," he replies. "I'm still not sure I like it."

"Why not?"

"It's-" the sound of the front door opening makes him pause mid-sentence. From where he sits he can see the front door, and he doesn't look too happy about whoever is coming through it. A middle-aged man that looks like a former frat boy enters the room, his hair gelled and a tight black t-shirt covering what might have been a six pack at one point but has transformed into something completely unlike it as laziness prevailed over the years. He glances in my direction but doesn't bother to make an acknowledgement. He looks to Patrick.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His words are as cold as I expected them to be.

"I'm sorry, did I ruin your plan to do it with another one your little sluts on the couch?" Patrick spits in a tone so shockingly nasty.

"Yes, in fact, great minds think alike, I guess," he retorts, looking in my direction. My jaw drops at the fact that a complete stranger just had the nerve to call me a slut. I'm in such shock that my natural reaction of getting up and kneeing him where it hurts is delayed. Patrick glances down at his food, composing himself, and then sets his gaze back on me. He's speaking calmly, but I can tell that it's just an outward show.

"My room is right around the corner. Can you go sit in there for a minute while I handle something?" he requests, his voice low and monotone. I comply with Patrick's request, though I know this isn't doing much for the slutty image that this man has in his head of me. The bedroom door is barely all the way shut before I can hear muffled yelling. I listen, but through the door it is harder to understand the quickly fired words.

Instead of trying to decode what is being said in the next room, I examine the room that I stand in now. It is the only room in the house that actually looks like it has been lived in. There are posters on the wall of bands that I recognize, a bulletin board full of pictures that appear to have been taken a long time ago, and some concert tickets to the bands whose posters hang on the walls. The bed isn't made, but the black comforter is pulled up to the pillows. The floor is clean except for a few school books and stray papers. On the far side of the room is bookcase with every shelf filled to the max.

I grab one of the books, prepared to read the back to get an idea of what kind of stuff he reads, and then sit on his bed. Before I can read the first line, though, the door opens. Patrick, looking much more distraught than he did when I left the room, enters and locks the door behind him.

"Jump out the window," he says, avoiding eye contact with me. For a moment I am distracted by the blood on his face, but I get the feeling that he isn't up for any argument or questioning, so I do as he tells me. He unlocks and opens the window for me and then holds my hand as I jump out to keep me from falling. He grabs a box of Kleenex off the shelf and throws it out the window before him.

We quickly walk toward my car and get in. He hits the lock on his door and pulls the mirror down. He nurses his bloody nose with a bundle of Kleenexes and takes another Kleenex to take care of the cut on his forehead.

"Sorry," he says quietly, "That kind of ruined the night, didn't it?"

"What happened?" I ask. He shrugs.

"My step dad," he answers. "We clash a little bit."

"A little bit?"

"This is the first time this has happened," he assures me, though it doesn't make me feel much better.

"We should call the police," I say, grabbing my cell phone from my back pocket. He casually reaches over and takes the phone from me, dropping it in his lap as he continues putting pressure on the bleeding areas.

"No."

"Patrick, we can't just let this-"

"Kat, I know you're trying to help, but don't," he says. I put the car in drive and pull away from the curb, "I'm not going to the hospital either."

"We'll go back to my house."

He dabs the wound on his forehead, which seems to be bleeding a little less now, "I don't even know what he threw at me."

"He threw something?"

"Hence the painful injuries."

When we finally make it to my house my dad's car is nowhere to be seen, which is a relief since I am pretty sure bringing my beat-up boyfriend into our kitchen while my dad is making dinner wouldn't go over so well.

"My dad keeps a first aid kid around every corner," I say as I head for the "emergency supplies" drawer in the kitchen.

"What happened?" I hear Bianca gasp from behind me, walking toward Patrick with a glass of tea in her hand. This is the first time I've even noticed her presence. Patrick eyes me, requesting help.

"Oh….we were playing football and…." I shrug as if the rest is self-explanatory.

"Since when do you play football?" she asks, eyeing us both suspiciously, "and since when can footballs do _that_?" she challenges, and I guess it's true that a football cutting someone in the manner that Patrick's forehead is cut is pretty far out.

"Hey…can you go get me the Hydrogen Peroxide and some cotton balls from the upstairs bathroom?" I ask edgily.

Bianca shrugs, "I guess."

We're quiet for a few minutes while he takes a new round of Kleenex to blot his wounds.

"Is that the stuff that stings," he narrows his eyes at me suspiciously as if I am purposely choosing to cleanse his cuts with something that will burn.

I shake my vehemently, "I don't think so." The smile that immediately appears on his face confirms that I am a terrible liar.

"Kat, I wasn't born yesterday."

"Really? I could have sworn you were one of those rare, 6'1" infants with facial hair."

"I need to teach you to lie," he says as he takes a seat at the counter. Bianca comes back in with the black bottle of peroxide and sets it down in from of me.

"Is this the stuff that burns?" He asks Bianca casually, as if his point isn't going to be riding on whatever answer she gives.

"Like hell," she responds as she resumes drinking her tea. He pushes the bottle away from himself.

"No thanks."

I raise an eyebrow as if to silently question how serious he is about being afraid of a little burning, "Seriously?"

"It hurts enough as it is."

"It'll hurt even more if it gets infected," I say. I feel like I am a mother talking to a five year old kid with a scraped up knee, "Are you sure we shouldn't go to the hospital? Maybe you need stitches."

"It's not that deep."

The kitchen door swings open and my dad enters. His previously happy expression changes to that of distaste, as it normally does when he sees Patrick.

"I thought you two were…" he starts harshly, ready to reprimand me for having "the Manboy" in the house while he wasn't home to supervise. He stops as he sees the blood, but his voice doesn't become any less harsh, "You get in a fight?"

Patrick smiles wryly, because that is all he can manage at the moment, "Gang initiation."

I look at Patrick, not sure where to go from here. It doesn't seem like he wants to make a big deal of this by telling everyone, but I wasn't expecting my dad to be home so I hadn't prepared anything to explain this. I look back to my dad, who looks terrified because his lack of sarcasm-detecting skills have kept him from realizing that Patrick isn't actually in a gang, "Dad, he's joking."

He looks to Patrick, "Ha, ha," he replies dryly, "What actually happened?"

"Can I tell him?" I ask Patrick, barely above a whisper. Out of the corner of his eye he glances at my dad and then back at me, contemplating whether this is a wise decision. He finally nods at me and then gets up and takes the peroxide and cotton balls into the bathroom around the corner without another word. I watch until he is out of sight and then turn to my dad, completely unsure of how to explain this, even if it is all the truth.

"What happened to a nice, safe dinner?" he demands.

"His step-dad came home and was being a complete jerk and Patrick asked me to leave the room and I guess it all got physical and…"

My dad's expression doesn't show any sign of sympathy. "So, he made sure you were safely in another room before letting it get rowdy?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," he replies thoughtfully, "And you're okay?"

"Of course."

"Well, did you call the police and report it?"

Patrick enters the kitchen again, a cold rag compressing his forehead.

"No," he answers decisively, "I'm sure I did just as much damage to him, if not more; I don't need to spend a night at the police station answering a bunch of questions about what happened."

"Does this happen…often?"

"Normally it doesn't get physical."

For the first time, I realize that the reason this fight got physical and none of the other ones did might have had something to do with me, and the comment made toward me. With nothing else to say about the subject, my dad examines the wounds and agrees that they don't need any serious medical attention.

My dad agrees to let Patrick stay the night on our couch, but he sleeps on the floor right outside my door to ensure that nobody has "too much fun."


	19. Chapter 19

_So, because I don't want this to turn into a never-ending-and-increasingly-pointless fan fiction, I plan to end this story after the next couple chapters, maybe even in the next chapter-I haven't decided yet. However, I do plan to start new stories, because I enjoyed writing this one so much. I have been dying to do something involving the newer episodes since this story started up before those came about and I wasn't able to incorporate any of the newer happenings from the show, so we'll see what happens. Just wanted to let you know so it wasn't like BAM! Ending. _

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 19**

The couch was empty, the used blankets were draped over it, and the pillow still had the indentation in it from a good night of use. Patrick had made it out of the house before anyone else even saw morning light. I guess I half expected that.

Now, the day has long since come to an end and darkness has moved in to replace the sunshine. Standing below my bedroom window, the chilly air blankets my shoulders and makes my teeth chatter. I fold my arms across my chest and run my hands over my arms. The startling warmth only lasts a few short seconds and I begin to regret not grabbing a jacket before climbing out the window. Dismayed at the fact that I am still standing here alone, I check the time on my cell phone. Two minutes to 11. I start to doubt that Patrick plans to make a reappearance, though after the disappearing act he pulled this morning I think it is the least he could do for me. I let a sigh of disappointment escape into the empty air and turn to make the short trip up to my bedroom. As I do, footsteps startle me from behind and I spin around quickly, prepared to release five years of childhood karate skills on the source of the noise. However, when I finally focus in on the source of the noise I let my guard down. Patrick takes a step backward, seeing that he has startled me. I am assuming it is because he knows how much damage I could do if I don't immediately recognize him.

"I see that jacket I gave you isn't being put to good use," he states, disregarding the fact that a second ago I was fully prepared to break him in half like a twig. I shrug at the observation. It's true; the leather jacket he let me wear that night after swimming is still upstairs hanging on the back of my desk chair and hasn't been worn since that night.

"I thought you'd like the honor of warming me up," I grin, stepping closer to him. He takes a step forward, closing the space between us. He gathers me in a warm embrace and kisses me. When our lips finally separate I am out of air. Breathing heavily, overwhelmed by the kiss, I look into his deep brown eyes. With my newfound knowledge of what his life is like when he isn't with me, I can distinguish the pain seeping into his gaze. More than anything I want to show him the other side of pain-joy.

"Let's go," he says, wrapping my hand in his and leading me to his bike. Tonight is a full moon. Patrick is even more enthralled by the beach when it is lit by a full moon.

With his jean jacket wrapped around my shoulders to keep me warm, we stand in front of the crashing waves, letting the refreshing water unfold over our feet. I turn my attention away from the ocean to look at his moonlit face. Feeling my gaze, he turns to me. His touch is warm as he pulls me into him and kisses me once again. Each kiss is more overpowering than the last. When he pulls away I start to wonder if this fate is as real as the sand beneath our feet. Because I never thought that I could feel like this. I never thought I would meet someone who could mend all of my ripped up seams, all the pain from the past. I want to be the star of all his dreams and be the girl that mesmerizes him because when I look at him the world just melts away. I want to fight these feelings, fend them off with everything I have so that there is no possibility of getting hurt, but I've never trusted someone to not break my heart as deeply as I trust Patrick. I thought I could put only half my heart into this relationship, keep myself from falling completely and becoming attached, but stumbling around in circles gets dizzying at a certain point and I gave in and just went forward with it; I put everything on the table, risking it all, hoping that his promise not to break my heart was as sincere as it seemed.

"I love you," I declare, letting my emotions get the best of me, something so out of character for me that even I am surprised by the words. But tailing that surprise is the realization that letting the words pour out of my mouth was a mistake. I feel like an idiot. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean…I don't know why I said that." I shake my head, expressing my feeling of regret attached to saying those words. He doesn't say anything for a moment, which makes me nervous, though I don't know why. I didn't have any set expectations when I said the words; I didn't expect anything in return. We stare at the water in silence and I realize that the blissful moment that I never wanted to end turned into an agonizing moment that felt like it would never end once I said those three words.

"It's okay." He doesn't seem to feel uncomfortable or reproachful. Very little time has lapsed between my apology and his acceptance of that apology, but it felt like an eternity. I let another eternity pass before changing the subject.

"Are things okay at home now?" I inquire softly, though I am not fully engaged in the conversation that I am commencing. He nods, but tacks on a worrying shrug.

"I cleaned up the kitchen today. The bastard didn't even bother to clean my blood up off the floor."

"He wasn't there today?"

"Thankfully, he's normally only home a few nights a week."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Sensing that the rest of this night won't lay as smoothly as it had when it started, I decide to just put an end to it. "It's getting late…I should get home."

His hesitation lasts only a second before he gets to his feet and reaches out a hand to help me up. I let him assist me and lead me back to his bike. The night ends with a kiss, but it doesn't take me the same way it did at the beginning.


	20. Chapter 20

_Thanks for reading, everyone! I appreciate all your great comments and enthusiasm while reading my story. Not sure when the new one will be posted, but I'll try to make it soon._

**Chapter 20**

I can't sleep. I feel like too much of an idiot after what happened to get any rest. As I lay in bed, eyes wide open and sleep miles away, I hear rustling coming from Bianca's room. She's probably putting tomorrow's outfit together. I throw the blankets off of my body and slide out of bed. I knock hesitantly on Bianca's bedroom door, because I'm not sure why I'm even there.

"Yeah?" she asks, the long day wearing on her voice. I open the door a little bit and peek in. Dressed in one of her many pairs of flannel pajamas, she is standing in front of her full length mirror running a brush carefully through her hair. I open the door all the way and quietly saunter over to her bed. She looks at me in the mirror.

"What's wrong? You look grumpier than usual," she says. I take a deep breath and forget to let it out, "Why are you back so soon? Didn't you leave with Patrick like a half hour ago?"

"I told him I loved him." I finally let that breath out. Bianca stops brushing her hair and turns to me with the stare of a future People Magazine journalist who just got her big scoop of the week.

"And?" she demands.

I shrug. "And what?"

"And did he say it back?" she questions eagerly. I avert my gaze downward, "He didn't?"

"Well….he might have if I hadn't cut him off before he even had a chance," I reply regretfully, "I apologized immediately after saying it."

"Did you mean what you said?"

"Bianca," I say, disappointed in how little she knows about me after all these years, "of course I meant it."

"Then why'd you apologize?"

"Because I shouldn't have said it. We've only known each other for four months and-"

"But it's the way you feel," she says, "so why apologize for the way you feel? Why try to hide the way you feel and pretend you don't care?"

I don't have a response to those questions. Seeing that she has helped me as much as she can, she sits sets her hairbrush down on her nightstand and pulls the blankets on her bed down until I get in her way. Catching the hint, I return to my own bedroom.

The wait seems shorter tonight, probably because the oversized jacket that hangs on my body is doing its job and keeping me warm. I watch as Patrick nonchalantly parks his bike by the curb and starts walking across our lawn to where I stand. As he nears me and sees that I am wearing the jacket that he let me keep, he smiles and nods approvingly.

"It adds something," he comments. I smile, looking down at my new ensemble and shrugging humbly, "So what was so important that you requested this meeting? Two nights in a row isn't our usual-"

"Look," I interrupt, unable to stand here and act like I just called him over for a make-out session, "Last night, I got caught up in everything and told you I loved you and I felt stupid so I lied and said I was sorry…but I'm not."

"Hmm." He nods, encouraging me to continue.

"I unapologize. I meant what I said," I say, confident and glad to be back to that person who doesn't give a damn what anyone else thinks. I'd lost it for so long in his presence. "I love you, okay? You litter. You need a haircut and have for months. Your motorcycle alone is probably responsible for half the town pollution, but I _still_ love you."

I don't know how to describe the expression that he is wearing. At first it looks apprehensive, and then confused, and finally it settles on something resembling delight. He moves closer and I think he is going to kiss me, but he doesn't; he just studies me for a moment.

"You yell at me for littering. You make fun of my hair, which I don't plan on cutting until it poses a threat to my driving abilities, and I offend you with nearly every statement I make, but I _still _love you." And then he kisses me and all the anxiety that I felt about this conversation seems silly now that I have seen just how simple it all really was.


End file.
